The Runaway Visitors (8 page)

It was a step on the terrace that alarmed her, that caused her to jump up suddenly and retreat into the darkest corner to hide her tear-stained face.

‘What’s the matter with
you
?’ asked Miss Jameson.

For a moment Victoria had thought it might be Charles; though why should
he
bother himself about her in the middle of his party? It was almost a relief that it was only Miss Jameson. ‘Nothing,’ she said, with a sniff that betrayed her. ‘Nothing’s the matter.’

‘There must be something the matter for you to be sitting here grizzling.’

‘No, there’s nothing. Why should there be?’

‘Ah, that’s the question. Why should there? You’re not ill, are

you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Headache?’

‘No, no.’

‘Well then, what is it? You might as well cough it up.’ ‘Goodness, I keep telling you it’s nothing. Anyone can have a fit of the blues, can’t they?’

‘Oh well, if
that’s
all it is ... I thought you might like a cup of something, that’s why I came. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee and a liqueur and perhaps that will cheer you up.’ And Miss Jameson vanished as quickly as she had come.

When she returned, she was carrying a small silver tray on which were a cup of coffee, a glass of liqueur and a small assortment of epicurean
petits fours.

‘And when you’ve had that,’ she said, ‘I should get to bed if I were you; and I expect in the morning you’ll be as right as rain. ’ Without a good night, she withdrew again. Just as one would give sweets to a child, Victoria thought. She drank the coffee and the liqueur, but she left the sweet things for Amanda and Sebastien in the morning. It was no good saying she would be better off in bed. With all the noise going on, she knew she would not get to sleep. Yet, even so, long before the guests began to depart, she could keep awake no longer and joined Amanda in their bedroom.

Next morning, while they were still at breakfast on their terrace, Giorgio stopped his motor bike outside the gate and walked through the garden to the terrace steps. He smiled up at them, wishing them
‘Buon giorno."
Standing there with his dark eyes screwed up against the brilliant sunshine, his sunglasses dangling from his hand, he seemed startlingly handsome. ‘
Buon giorno
’, they called back, and Amanda added:

‘Come up, Giorgio, and have some coffee.’

Victoria glanced at her in surprise. It was not often that Amanda was so forthcoming. And what she saw surprised her even more, for Amanda was gazing at Giorgio with nothing short of adoration. Goodness, thought Victoria, I hope she’s not going to get a crush on him. So far, Amanda had confined her ‘crushes’ to film or pop stars, and one or two others equally beyond her grasp. Those had been manageable because impossible. Victoria preferred that her sister’s crushes should remain in the realm of the impossible.

But Giorgio was already on the terrace, smiling at them all, and Amanda was rinsing out her cup to pour coffee for him.

‘I have to go to Poggibonsi to-day,’ he told them, ‘and I thought Sebastien might like to come along.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Giorgio,’ Victoria said at once, ‘I’m afraid he can’t.’

‘That’s too bad.’ Giorgio was accepting sugar from Amanda and smiling down at her. ‘Another time perhaps, but Sebastien hasn’t been to Poggibonsi and I thought he would like the ride.’

‘There won’t be another time,’ Sebastien put in gloomily. ‘I’m not allowed to ride on the bike. ’ Giorgio looked quickly at Vitoria.

‘It wasn’t I,’ she said. ‘Mr. Duncan won’t allow it.’

‘He says you go much too fast,’ said Amanda.

‘He saw us the other day coming back from Firenze,’ added Sebastien.

‘He
did
say you were going like a streak of lightning; and he feels responsible, you see.’ That was Victoria.

‘Ah.’ Giorgio had the grace to look guilty. ‘Yes, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. So it is not permitted at all?’

Victoria shook her head. They were all silent as Giorgio finished his coffee. Then he stood up, looking at Sebastien.

‘You can still come down to the farm, Sebastien?’

‘Of course.’

‘And your sisters? I wouldn’t like to think they are not coming anymore because I was stupid. ’

‘We’d love to come,’ said Amanda eagerly, ‘and
I
think you ought to come and have lunch with us one day. We had lunch with you. Please invite him, Victoria.’

Victoria smiled at Giorgio, and he was dazzled as he had been dazzled at first.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We invite you here and now, Giorgio. When can you come?’

A day was arranged; and as he went away, waving to them, Victoria thought they would arrange their own social life. Giorgio first; and Giorgio must have friends too. They would have a party of their own perhaps, seeing that they were excluded from Charles’s parties. They sat back, finished their breakfast, once again basking in the happy atmosphere that Giorgio seemed to bring with him—except perhaps for Sebastien, who was following his friend in imagination on the way to Poggibonsi and was inclined to be morose.

‘That was a good idea of yours, Amanda, having Giorgio to lunch. After the first time, we’ll see if he has friends he would like to bring along too; though I suppose I’d better see if it’s all right with Miss Jameson and Mr. Duncan. I don’t quite know how we stand.’

Victoria paused for a moment, then went on: ‘You could ask the Rimini girls too. They’re the right age for you, and you’re beginning to speak Italian. It would be good practice for you. ’ ‘Oh, Vicki, they’re
not
the right age for me,’ protested Amanda. ‘And it’s just too difficult, trying to keep up a conversation in a foreign language. ’ (Though she often attempted it with Giorgio, Victoria noticed.) ‘We don’t want a lot of
children.
After all, I’ll be fourteen next week.’

A very young fourteen up to now, Victoria thought. It would be easier for everybody concerned if Amanda stayed that way, at least until they went back to England.

That afternoon, Victoria went for a walk by herself. Amanda had re-started her bird embroidery and did not want to leave it, and Sebastien had slipped out alone, probably to the farm, not wanting his sisters with him. So Victoria set out, round the side of the house, intending to climb the hill above it and walk on the olive-clad, cypress-scattered, cystus-sweet slopes where there was usually a welcome breeze. She had not gone far, however, when a voice hailed her: a voice she could never possibly mistake for anybody else’s.

‘Hi there, Victoria,’ it called, ‘hi! ’ and as she turned round, Charles called: ‘Can you spare me a minute?’ He was standing outside the wide double doors of his studio, wearing the same old clay-smeared smock with the large pocket across the front. She walked slowly back to him, noticing that there were faint smudges of clay on his brown hair also, giving it a fascinating effect of going grey.

‘Come in,’ he said, indicating the studio with a wave of his arm, and she went in by the unfamiliar way, with the wrought-iron railing now facing her. She saw that he was still working on the clay-daubed armature, but now it was beginning to take a form recognisable as the maquette of the miners which stood on a table nearby.

‘Well now, Victoria,’ he said, and his voice was noticeably less brusque than formerly. She realised that he was trying to be kind, and she preferred him when he was being completely natural. ‘I hope you’re settling down nicely here—hmm?’

‘Settling down?’ She shrugged her shoulders slightly. ‘I don’t think we actually feel very settled. ’

‘I hope you soon will. I thought it was high time I took you on a little tour of Firenze’s more famous treasures. You might as well improve your education while you’re here. ’

‘You mean all of us?’ asked Victoria.

‘Naturally. I suppose Amanda and Sebastien have to be educated, too.’

‘I don’t think Sebastien is very keen about art treasures. He prefers cars and boats and motor bikes at present. But I’ll certainly ask him. Amanda and myself would like it very much.’

‘Then what about to-morrow? We could have a look at the Duomo and perhaps the Accademia museum before lunch, have lunch in a rather decent place I know, to revive you and prepare

you for the Uffizi in the afternoon. How about that?’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ said Victoria. ‘Thank you very much. ’

‘O.K.,’ he said, with an air of dismissing her. ‘I think ten o’clock will be early enough in the morning. Now you go off for your walk and I’ll get back to my job.’

She hesitated. She wanted to ask him to let her wander about the studio looking at things. But he had already turned away and picked up a great handful of clay which he began to puddle about in his fingers, regarding the work in front of him. So she said:

‘
Ciao
,’ she stepped outside, and his answering ‘
Ciao
’ sounded absent-minded already, as if he had forgotten all about her.

Neither Amanda nor Sebastien received Victoria’s invitation with much enthusiasm when she returned from her walk, but neither refused to go. Victoria thought it would be a waste of time for Sebastien. Perhaps, next morning, she would find an excuse for him to absent himself.

Sebastien did not wait for Victoria to find an excuse. As they sat at the breakfast table, the sun already very hot at that time of the morning, promising a clear, beautiful day in the country, but a very stuffy one in Firenze, he said, lavishly spreading a new roll with butter and honey:

‘I don’t want to look at art treasures, Vicki. I’d sooner stay here. Giorgio said he might come by this morning.’

‘Giorgio can come by any morning.’ She saw that Sebastien was taking on a mutinous look, and added:

‘Still, I don’t see why you should look at Michelangelo if it bores you.
I’d
be bored looking at old cars. I’ll make an excuse for you.’ ‘Oh, good,’ he said, infinitely relieved. ‘ As a matter of fact, I helped on the farm yesterday afternoon, and Giorgio said I could any time I felt like it—provided he was there. ’

‘And
I
don’t want to go,’ said Amanda. ‘I hate trailing round stuffy old picture galleries. I want to get on with my bird embroidery, I’ve just got the urge again to go on with it. ’

‘Well, it’s not very polite to Mr. Duncan when he’s making a bit of an effort for us,’ said Victoria, wondering if it was the mention of Giorgio’s possible arrival that made Amanda want to stay here.

‘He’s taken his time about it,’ said Sebastien drily. ‘Do
you

want to go, Vicki?’

‘Yes, I’d love to. I want to see what there is to see; and it’s much better to have a really knowledgeable guide. ’

So Victoria only was waiting and ready at ten o’clock to go with Charles. Victoria in a sun-yellow dress with her hair tied back with a sun-yellow chiffon scarf, which wafted in the breeze. There was nobody to tell her that she was as pretty as a picture: her sister and brother were too used to her, Miss Jameson regarded her with detached appraisal, and Charles narrowed his eyes when he saw her, as if he were getting her into perspective, but said nothing. It was Victoria who spoke.

‘I’m afraid Sebastien and Amanda have gone on strike.’

Charles looked at her questioningly.

‘Art is wasted on Sebastien. He’s at the stage where vintage cars are much more interesting. Amanda hasn’t much enthusiasm and gets tired trailing round museums. I’m sorry.’

‘What about you? Do you get tired, Victoria, trailing around museums?’

Was there a hope of relief in his question? she wondered. Was he thinking there was a chance that he could get back to his work? Victoria hardened her heart. He had invited her, and now he had to put up with her. She would not let him off.

‘Oh no, I’m
most
interested. I’m really looking forward to it.’ ‘Right then. Hop in, and we’ll be off.’

He opened the car door for her and she got in. The roof was down, and the passage of the car allowed plenty of wind to cool them. She was glad she had tied back her hair. They sped into Firenze and Charles parked his car in the courtyard of the Contessa’s house. ‘We’ll thank her when we take it out again,’ he said, and led Victoria into the streets of Firenze.

She soon found, as she had said to Sebastien, that it was much better to have a knowledgeable guide. It was a very different thing exploring Firenze on her own, from having Charles at her side, Charles’s hand on her elbow guiding her across the streets and through the short cuts, Charles to find all the best things to show her and pointing out their finer points. In the magnificent Duomo or Cathedral, in the beautiful Baptistry with its famous bronze doors in high relief, Charles could resolve her doubts or relieve her ignorance. In the Accademia museum, the original David, as

opposed to the copy in the Piazza della Signoria, entranced her.

‘It’s fashionable nowadays to be patronising about it,’ Charles told her. ‘People pretend to believe it tedious. But one should never listen to fashionable people. ’